Little Shoes and Mistletoe

by Sally Laity

  “Do you. . .do you think they’ll be all right?”

  “I sincerely hope and pray so, but only time will tell.” He regarded her evenly. “You really do care about them, don’t you?”

  She had to be honest. “How could I not? Such heartbreak to deal with at such a young age.”

  “But that’s only two out of thousands. We can only do what we can do and trust that it helps.” He paused, pocketing the funds from Aunt Phoebe. “Guess I’ll be off. Thanks again, Eliza. You’ll be in my prayers.”

  And you will be in mine, her heart answered.

  As the bell jangled above the door, a second, smaller one sounded from Aunt Phoebe’s room. Eliza turned the Closed sign outward and went to answer the summons.

  ten

  By closing time the following afternoon, Eliza’s feet ached from having been on them all day. It seemed the nearer it got to Christmas, the more customers came to buy gifts. No wonder Aunt Phoebe had been so worn out, she conceded, what with tending the shop most daylight hours and then working on projects until late at night.

  Eliza bristled to think she had allowed the older woman to carry most of that burden, while she herself traipsed off to quilting circle every week, practiced the piano most mornings, and whiled away untold hours that could be better spent in making Aunt Phoebe’s life easier. After all, hadn’t that been the reason she’d come to New York in the first place?

  Grimacing at her thoughtlessness, Eliza went to turn the Closed sign around. Her frown turned into a smile at the sight of a visitor coming up the walk, and she threw open the door to admit her friend. “Anabelle! How nice of you to come by!”

  Ana handed her a basket of baked treats. “I thought you might be in need of some company.”

  “Oh, I am, I am. With the exception of Aunt Phoebe, I see only strangers most of the time. And thank you for the goodies. I’ll make us some tea.”

  “While you do that, I’ll look in on the dear lady, if you don’t mind. I’ve brought her a book of poetry. I’ll be just a few moments.”

  “How sweet of you. She will love it, I’m sure.”

  With a hopeful smile, Anabelle hooked her wrap over one of the wall pegs, tucking her gloves into the hood before removing a small wrapped book from the pocket. Straightening her jade gown, she went down the hall.

  Eliza headed for the kitchen and got out the teapot, tidying up a few things she’d been too busy to care about while the shop was open. By the time the water was boiling and she had measured tea into the silver tea ball and filled the pot to the brim, her visitor joined her.

  Anabelle pulled out a spindle-back chair and sat down. “As Micah reported, your aunt seems to be improving. I didn’t stay long, though, lest I tire her. He’s been quite anxious about the two of you.”

  “Your Micah tends to worry about a lot of folks,” Eliza replied. “I just wish we hadn’t added to his concerns.” She set out matching cups and saucers, then brought the teapot to the table and placed it between them. “I could have jumped for joy when the doctor said Aunt Phoebe’s just worn out—although I must confess, I feel somewhat responsible.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I could have done so much more to help, but instead, I chose to occupy myself with my own activities. That had to be a factor in her having taken ill.” Watching Ana’s expression cloud over, she pressed on. “So, I’ve decided to stop going to the sewing circle—at least until after the holidays.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I do understand, though.” She paused. “Just don’t become a recluse yourself. That’s one of the reasons I came by, actually.”

  Eliza frowned in curiosity.

  “Micah and I would like you to attend a holiday concert with us. Us and a friend. A foursome, you know.”

  “A gentleman friend?”

  Anabelle nodded, raising a hand to dismiss all of Eliza’s objections. “It’s just for an evening. I can’t bear for you to be sequestered at home for the rest of the Christmas season when so many churches put on festive programs. And afterward we can go to some quiet spot for pie and coffee.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “Come on, Eliza. I promised Micah I would be able to persuade you to accompany us.”

  Envisioning herself in some quiet little spot across the table from Micah Richmond did strange things to Eliza’s insides. But, her conscience reasoned, perhaps that was just what she needed. Being in his company when he was with Anabelle. Watching the two of them making doe eyes at one another. Witnessing their mutual love. It might just render a mortal blow to her absurd fantasies about the Weston Elliot look-alike.

  Against her better judgment, she acquiesced. “All right. As soon as Aunt Phoebe can be left alone for an evening, I’ll go out with you—and your gentleman friend.”

  A new glow filled Anabelle’s eyes. “Splendid!”

  “But only once,” Eliza amended.

  “As you wish. I can’t wait to tell Micah!”

  But even as Eliza poured the tea, she hoped fervently that she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

  ❧

  Eliza brushed out her aunt’s silvery hair, fashioning it into its customary knob at the crown. She fluffed a few loose tendrils around her face, then stepped back to assess her work. “I do declare, you’re looking positively chipper this morning, Auntie.”

  Crossing her arms over her bosom, the older woman emitted a huff. “All I know is it feels downright ridiculous to have to spend one more day in this bed with Christmas a scant three weeks away. I need to be up and doing more than just crocheting.”

  “Now, now,” Eliza scolded good-naturedly. “You know what Dr. Jenson said. You don’t want him to hustle you off to the hospital, to be poked, prodded, and peered at, when a few more days’ rest will only help you to get stronger.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ve heard that lecture more times than I care to admit. I’ll stay here, more’s the pity, but I don’t have to like it.” She made a face at the books on the bedside table. “Are there any more classics in Cap’s library? I’ve read these a dozen times already.”

  “I’ll take a look. I’m sure there must be something. Have you finished the poetry book Anabelle brought?”

  “Twice.” Her countenance softened with a smile. “It was sweet of her to come by and wish me well, though, her and Micah. They’ll make a good match—assuming he ever gets down to marrying the girl, that is. Can’t imagine why he’s dragging his feet.”

  Eliza didn’t respond, instead stepping to the window and opening the draperies to allow the bright sunshine in. “Looks like another glorious day. No doubt dozens of customers will come by the shop.”

  “How’s the stock holding up?”

  “Fine, Auntie. Just fine. Stop worrying.” Bending to bestow a kiss to her companion’s silken cheek, she hugged her as well. “I’ll bring your breakfast tray directly.”

  Her gnarled fingers squeezed Eliza’s hand. “Do forgive my orneriness, dear. I truly appreciate your kind attention to an old lady. It’s just—”

  “I know,” Eliza murmured gently. “It won’t be much longer. The doctor’s sure to notice how much you’ve improved since he was last here.”

  “Largely thanks to you,” she admitted with a grudging smile. “Now, about my breakfast. . .”

  ❧

  Micah looped the horse’s reins through the hitching post in front of the tenement building and helped his assistant to alight from the buggy. He handed her one of the sacks of groceries they’d brought and took the remaining two himself, and they started toward the cluttered stoop directly ahead.

  “Mercy,” Mrs. Wallace exclaimed, her short legs stepping over a greasy-looking puddle in her path. “One naturally expects winter to improve a dreary spot, what with new snow falling from time to time.”

  “It’ll take more than a few inches of snow to alleviate so
me of this gloom,” Micah said dryly. “A raging blizzard, maybe.”

  The pleasant-faced woman chuckled, and the cheeks beneath her feather-trimmed hat plumped with her smile. Then she sobered. “Ah, but then some of these poor souls would have it all the harder, wouldn’t they?”

  Micah could only agree.

  “Here,” she offered. “I’ll get the door. You have your arms full.”

  He grinned his thanks, and the two of them paused just inside while their vision adjusted to the dimness of the long hallway.

  As always, children swarmed around them both, eyes wide and expectant. They did not, however, display a lack of manners by so much as hinting about the penny candy that typically appeared whenever Micah arrived with sacks. He rarely kept them waiting. Setting down one of his bags, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew some peppermint sticks. “Here, Tony, Vinnie, Gina. One for everybody.”

  Beside him, Mrs. Wallace had her own cluster of youngsters vying for attention. “Little Rosa, Maria, Gabriella.” She handed a treat to each one in turn, and almost en masse, the gaggle of little ones skipped away with their treasures. She turned to Micah. “Now, where do we start?”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “First two apartments, then the Garibaldi household.” Gesturing with his head for her to follow, he strode toward the nearest flat.

  Once a portion of the groceries had been delivered to the intended parties, he and Mrs. Wallace approached Gina and Vinnie’s place. Micah rapped on the doorjamb.

  The olive-skinned housewife appeared almost instantly. Looking more tired than usual, dark circles shadowed her eyes as she dried her hands on the soiled apron covering her faded dress and stepped aside. “Mr. Richmond. Mrs. Wallace. Come in’a, come in.” She pretended not to notice the burden Micah held.

  “Thought we’d come by and see how you’re doing,” he said evenly. “We hoped you might put some of this to good use.” With that, he pressed the bulging sack into her arms.

  Her dark eyes misted over, and she swallowed. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done’a dis. But Vittorio an’ me, we say graci.”

  “How is everyone?” Mrs. Wallace asked.

  The woman released a weary sigh. “Some days’a good, some days’a not so good. We make do.”

  “And the girls, Rosa and Gabriella,” Micah prompted. “Are you managing all right with them?”

  She cast a surreptitious look over her shoulder, as if not wanting to be overheard, then met his gaze. “I tell’a you, it’sa hard. We love dem, you know. But we got our own to feed and clothe. It’sa not easy to do for our own.” A self-conscious shrug finished the unspoken thought eloquently.

  Micah gave a reluctant nod.

  “We try. We make do.”

  “I understand. That’s all we could hope, right? I’ll check back again in a few more days.”

  “You do dat. And graci for da food. . .and da caring. Arrivederci.”

  “God bless,” Micah said. He glanced at Mrs. Wallace, and they turned for the door.

  Their footsteps echoed hollowly from one end of the deserted corridor to the other, all the way to the exit. Neither of them spoke until they reached the buggy.

  “Well, I guess we know what that means,” his companion said under her breath on a sigh of resignation.

  Micah nodded. “Might as well start looking for a family who’d like to adopt two little Italian girls.” But how, with so many prejudiced against their foreign culture, their Catholic faith? The best he could do for now was try to find a temporary shelter. And pray that God would touch someone’s heart.

  Handing Mrs. Wallace up to the seat, Micah gathered the traces and climbed in beside her. The afternoon was starting to cloud over again, and there was a definite nip to the air. He’d best drive her directly to the office before seeing to the errands that still awaited him.

  For some reason—most likely because she asked about the children only yesterday, he told himself—his thoughts drifted to Eliza. This new development would likely disturb her almost as much as it did him. If he mentioned it, that is. She already had worries enough caring for Mrs. Harper. It might be prudent not to say anything.

  If only Ana showed some of that concern, he mused in his despondency. Or even just listened sympathetically while he unburdened himself after a particularly trying day. After all, wasn’t that part and parcel of being a wife?

  When they married, she’d have to be more accepting of his ministry. If he could only convince her to go with him on one of his benevolent calls, she’d see he was involved in something of real value. Anyone with a heart as tender as Ana-belle’s could hardly escape being affected if she witnessed the deep need herself.

  Releasing a shuddering breath, he turned the matter over to God in silent prayer.

  eleven

  When Aunt Phoebe at last dropped off to sleep, Eliza extinguished the downstairs lights and trudged upstairs to her bedroom. Every bone in her body ached, and her stomach growled from hunger, but she was too weary to care. A letter had come from home in response to her most recent missive, and she had yet to read it. Taking the envelope from the pocket of her skirt, she placed it on her bedside table and lit the lamp. Then she broke the seal and unfolded the pages, anticipating the memory of her mother’s melodious voice in the neatly penned words:

  Dearest Eliza,

  Your father and I were so very glad to hear from you again. We miss you desperately but do understand your decision to remain in New York indefinitely. Our dear Phoebe has been alone far too long, and now that she is up in years, I know she must appreciate your company. I pray your presence will be a comfort and a blessing to her.

  I hesitate to tell you this, daughter, but thought you should hear it from me rather than some other source. Melanie has come home, alone.

  Eliza, caught completely off guard by the startling news, felt a chill run up her spine. Melanie, alone? What could have happened? Sympathy for her former best friend vied with the bitterness caused by the betrayal of their relationship. But even as her emotions warred within her, Eliza read on:

  She refuses to talk to anyone and will not so much as set foot outside her room. She scarcely touches the lovely meals the housekeeper prepares for her, and her mother is beside herself with worry.

  Melanie has taken no one into her confidence, so it is anyone’s guess as to what occurred after she left town. I thought you should know about this, in the event you might chance to come for a visit.

  Please take care of yourself, my darling, and give Phoebe our warm regards. Our prayers are ever with you.

  With deepest love,

  Mother

  Barely able to draw breath, Eliza sank to her bed and let the crisp stationery flutter to the floor. She and the high-spirited Melanie had been bosom friends as far back as her memories of childhood reached. Together they had shared giggles and girlish secrets, tears, school years, and daydreams. And quite possibly the rift between them pained Melanie every bit as much as it did Eliza.

  But, she reasoned, that did not alter the fact that Melanie had run off with Weston. If she had taken a butcher knife and cut out Eliza’s heart, it could not have inflicted more pain.

  Eliza filled her lungs and slowly let them deflate, knowing she should at the very least pray for the girl. And perhaps, in time, she would be able to do just that. But right now, Melanie Brown Elliot was one of two people in the world she could not bear to think about. All she wanted to do was rid her mind of all conscious thoughts and climb into bed.

  ❧

  “Here you are, Auntie. Your favorites.” Eliza placed the bed tray before the older woman, then went to open the drapes.

  “Thank you, dear. The coddled eggs look perfect. And you even remembered marmalade for my toast. Bless you.”

  With a thin smile in response to her aunt’s cheerfulness, Eliza busied herself tidying the room. “Just rin
g the bell when you’ve finished, and I’ll bring you your crocheting. Doctor Jensen said there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be permitted to do something that isn’t strenuous.” She turned to leave.

  “Just a minute, child.”

  Pausing at the door, she swivelled to face her aunt.

  “You look rather pale this morning. Did you not sleep well?”

  “I’m fine,” Eliza hedged, toying with a fold of her dark gray skirt. “I just have some things on my mind.”

  “Difficulties concerning the shop?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Well, should you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.” The old spark shone in Aunt Phoebe’s eyes.

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that. Oh, I think I hear the bell. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”

  Exiting the comfortable bedchamber, Eliza hastened to greet the day’s first customer.

  ❧

  Phoebe nibbled a corner off a triangle of toast, then set the tray aside. During these days of lying in bed with nothing to do but sewing, the thought had come to her to put together a surprise for Eliza, one fashioned after the Epiphany tradition Cap had brought to their marriage from his Anglican background. For twelve nights following Christmas, Eliza would be given a different present. By the time she opened the last gift, she would possess a carved wooden box with twelve heirlooms, special items Phoebe had cherished throughout her own life.

  So far she had only come up with six gifts. But on the spur of a moment, she’d remembered her grandmother’s ornate pill box necklace. It would make a perfect addition to the other things collected thus far: a tiny silver hand mirror her father had given to her mother on their wedding day; four matching pewter napkin rings from her mother’s hope chest; a gilt-edged picture frame, a set of crystal knife rests, a hand-painted silk fan Cap had purchased on his first voyage to the Orient, and an ornate-handled letter opener.